She was looking at me apprehensively. Was I going to make a scene? Actually, I wasn’t. Rule of combat number one: never engage when you’re tired and/or emotional. ‘There are a couple more people I’d say have been behaving oddly towards me, in particular. One is Justin Forbes—’
‘The big-shot lawyer?’
I knew he was a solicitor, but had no idea he was so important. I parried. ‘The same. He has the most wonderful home in Churcham, not so far from that bivouac, and a lookout post with a powerful telescope in his garden. He calls it his promontory,’ I added irrelevantly, but failing to suppress a silly giggle. ‘He’s another umpire, who tried to date me. Goodness knows why. Nothing in common, cricket apart.’
‘He might simply have the hots for you? Like some others I could mention?’ Elaine asked.
I would deal with the emotions caused by her second question in my own good time. ‘Emphatically Lady Preston does not have the hots, at least not for me. Lady Preston, Matt Storm’s employer. I believe she may officially have accused me of stealing certain works of art,’ I added with an ironic smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere – or was it to appease her? ‘The more I think about Lady Preston, the more I think she … needs to be questioned, at the very least.’
‘Come on, Jane – get real. She’s the lady of the manor. Old money. Influence. Hell, she and her family own most of the area.’
‘And does that mean she can do no wrong? We’re not living in a feudal society any more.’
‘No? Haven’t you seen your fellow villagers touch their forelocks?’
‘Are we still living in an age when an aristo could phone the chief constable and stop work on a case? Hell, we’ve got crime commissioners to make sure that policing is done well. At least that’s what they’re supposed to do, and at great expense, of course. Come on, Elaine: just listen to me for a moment. From day one, the woman’s been shoving her unofficial nose into the school. She gains unauthorised entry. She tries to see who’s in my playground the day there’s news of Zunaid’s turning up: I think it was to check on him and any others.’
‘You’re getting paranoid, Jane.’
‘Hear me out. On one occasion when I was talking to her in the grounds of her pad—’
‘Stop right there. You were there by invitation? Well, then.’
‘Well nothing. I heard children’s voices. They stopped, very abruptly. And again when I was having a meeting with Matt Storm. Yes, that Matt Storm. The Matt Storm we suspect is a people smuggler. The Matt Storm with the vicious dogs. When I was with him discussing a school project I heard children’s voices. As before they were quickly silenced. Then we have the small matter of Zunaid being attacked by dogs – never identified,’ I added. Did I sound accusing? Perhaps I did. What if the local media were silenced by Lady Preston’s diktat? Or even if she had influence over the police press officer …
‘You’re making very serious allegations.’
‘You’ve cheerfully listened to allegations about other people – welcomed my photos. Please give what I’ve said some credence.’
‘Have you told Will your suspicions?’
That silenced me. ‘Why should you be asking that?’
‘As Will’s DI, I need to know exactly how much you know about what he’s doing. And also what your relationship is with him.’
‘Like you,’ I said with something of an ironic bow, ‘he’s discretion personified. And as for a relationship, we all know that it would be a total breach of his professional ethics to be anything other than friendly with me. We’re not lovers.’ I couldn’t stop a grin emerging at a memory. ‘He did snog me once – but only so that a possible criminal thought we were what my mother used to insist on calling a courting couple, not a police officer with someone who was showing him a possible crime scene. And then Will gave chase, telling his colleagues what he was up to. Right? As for what he’s doing now, I haven’t a clue. I sent you both the photos at the same time. You responded; he didn’t. The last I heard from him was when he told me not to approach that encampment down in Churcham.’
‘Really. Nothing since? You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
She looked very serious.
‘Elaine, is Will OK? We might not be lovers, but he’s a decent guy and I like him.’
‘We hope he’s a decent guy. The thing is, and this is for your ears only, he’s gone off piste. AWOL. Off air. Whatever.’ Another Gaviscon. Two. By now she was actually looking ill.
‘Seriously? My God.’ I sat down hard. My brain made such unacceptable leaps I didn’t dare voice them. I already suspected Lady Preston’s influence. What if Will was her mole?
‘We’re looking for him. Exhaustively.’
‘His phone?’
‘Not traceable just now. Which makes you wonder … Of course, we’ll be questioning further all those we’ve picked up. But if you’ve got any ideas? No? OK. Now, it’s too late to start on that statement now. The person due to take it will have gone home long since. To be honest you look a bit washed out. So we’ll adjourn till the morning. Nine. Here.’
‘I’m on duty at school at seven tomorrow morning, you know.’
‘The way things are going, school may have to manage without you,’ she said sharply. She didn’t look angry, however, just miserable.
‘Are you OK, Elaine?’
‘Of course I am. Just a touch of indigestion. And my back … It’s been a long day. And I really do not want to have to argue about things I can’t control.’
‘I’m sorry. Let me just say this. You have a team to rally round if one person is absent,’ I said. ‘In schools as small as mine there’s just no one to take up the slack. You can’t leave the children alone to study – they’re kids, not students!’
She managed a smile. ‘It always irritates me too when the media call them that. Students at five years old. I get aerated when they have people on British cop programmes called Detective Carberry. Or Detective Bowman, I suppose. We all loathe it. So, OK: children. Kids.’
I smiled back, if grimly. ‘So unless you arrest me, I can’t see me staying away.’
‘We’ll give you time to put all your arrangements in place and send a car for you. We need the statement, Jane, however much your kids need you. It shouldn’t take all that long. We know that in the past you’ve been a victim many times over, and I for one recognise that you’re still trying to be a decent public-minded citizen, helping equally overworked public employees to do their job. And now,’ Elaine yawned, giving a huge stretch, ‘let’s call it a day. I’ll see if I can find you a lift.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Next morning, halfway to school in a taxi, I got a text from the police – one of Elaine’s team saying they could release my car. I could collect it from Ashford during the day.
Thanks. But since the news didn’t come from Elaine herself I didn’t ask any of the questions I wanted answers to.
But here, mercifully, I was at Wray Episcopi School with more than enough in my in tray to take my mind off anything that wasn’t strictly work.
What was on today’s schedule? Allergy recognition training, and an action plan in case of anaphylactic shock. Right across our lunch break. Three-line whip, nonetheless – and that would include me. A staff meeting back at Wrayford after school – I’d spent so little time there recently they’d hardly recognise me when I turned up. And some time I was supposed to be giving the police a statement. Apart from that? News of Zunaid? I must contact Pam. The surveillance at the pub? I checked my watch: yes, Diane would be up and about, itching, no doubt, to share any gossip.
‘Nothing at all. Zilch. Zero. Rien. Nowt. I was really disappointed. Maybe the officer occupying your room was too. At least she’s getting a free breakfast. Now, how’s it going with Will – did you get to spend the night together?’
I must be circumspect. ‘Actually I was with Elaine looking at the photos we took at Churcham. I took the opportunity – you know how keen the
police are on professional standards – to stress he’d always behaved like a perfect gentleman. Or a perfect police officer, and I know the two aren’t necessarily synonymous. So that’s the way it is and that’s the way it has to stay.’
‘It was clear he really liked you. And the way you ignored all the other guys chasing after you, I thought you fancied him.’
‘Hmmm. Maybe I do fancy him. But fancying someone doesn’t justify destroying his career. Remember what I said about Pat: if they thought he’d exploited someone vulnerable he could end up in jail.’
‘Which is where that bastard Pat should be! Wife and children indeed!’
‘Goodness me,’ I said as lightly as possible. ‘You have got a bad case of Monday-morning-itis, Diane. Let poor Pat be. He worked his socks off. He was always there when I needed him, and, job done, went away when I didn’t. End of. Same with Will. A good hard-working cop.’ I hoped.
‘You can’t tell me you didn’t love him. Pat, I mean.’
‘I can’t tell you anything at all because the first staff are arriving, and goodness knows I’ve neglected them. See you tonight, all being well. But please, please say nothing about me and either Pat or Will.’
It wasn’t just any staff arriving. It was Pam. And she arrived with a beaming Zunaid who ran up to me to be swung in my arms. ‘Pam stay with me,’ he declared.
She kissed the top of his head and told him to go and wash his hands so he could help lay out breakfast. ‘No, I’m not staying with him, nor him with me, more’s the pity. But his foster mum’s sister runs a B&B and needs some help, so I can live virtually next door to him and give him his breakfast and put him to bed – well, that’s more than some real grannies get. The only trouble will be where he goes to school, Jane: don’t you have to go where you live?’
I mimed rolling up my sleeves: ‘You leave the authorities to me. After all, his only real friend is here, isn’t he? Georgy? Pam, I’m so pleased for you – and I’ll be so pleased if you can both stay. Because you’d try and get a job wherever he fetches up, wouldn’t you?’
‘Here for now, anyway. Now where’s that imp gone?’ she asked loudly – it was obviously part of a regular game.
‘Imp here!’ I heard, and turned to the next task. Without any enthusiasm.
Then a Range Rover drew up outside. By the grim expression on the young woman’s face, she wasn’t there to help the kids across the road. Since it was too early for Donna, I opened the door for her myself.
‘Ms Cowan? I’m Detective Price. I’m part of the team working on the fire next to your cottage. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. You may want to sit down.’
Gesturing her inside and seating her in Donna’s office, I found my face too stiff to smile or say anything sensible.
We sat. I waited.
‘The body … Bodies. Not identified yet, may never be, actually, but we know it’s not a simple vagrant lighting a fire to keep warm. The fire brigade have found traces of accelerant. The thing is – the victims were children. Two children. Quite young. And that’s not the worst part,’ she said.
‘Killing two children isn’t bad enough?’
‘Of course it is. But for you it’s just the start. They think you may know the children from school and they’d like you to identify them. Now. I’ve come to take you to the morgue.’
In the midst of the physical agony gripping my stomach, I had to think. Fast and hard. Because anyone introducing herself with the term that Elaine loathed so much, anyone presenting herself without showing her ID, anyone so obviously on her own – no, it was reason as well as instinct that told me she wasn’t a police officer. ‘I’ll have to make some calls first, Ms Price. A school doesn’t run itself.’
‘We don’t have time.’
Were the bodies going somewhere in a hurry? I hated the grim joke my head had framed all by itself. Certainly I wasn’t going to say it aloud. ‘I have to tell my secretary and my deputy where I will be,’ I said. ‘I’m legally in charge of a hundred kids. I can’t just walk away. Sit down and make yourself at home while I make the calls.’ I even passed her the magazines Donna kept beside her desk.
‘I told you we have to go.’
Shrugging, I sat down anyway at Donna’s desk. The first call was to Elaine herself. Hell, voicemail. I left a message anyway. ‘Jane Cowan here, Tom,’ I said clearly. ‘Now, listen, Tom, if you want to be deputy head, you’re going to have to keep better time than this. Look,’ I continued, ‘I’ve got the police here saying I need to ID two bodies. I have to leave now, but you have to be here to let the students in.’ She’d pick up on the term I’d told her I disliked, wouldn’t she? ‘Oh, get a helicopter if you need one. No more excuses! OK?’ I ended the call. I must try not to panic. ‘Sorry,’ I said, my visitor getting to her feet, ‘there’s another person I need to talk to. My secretary.’
‘Can’t you do it from the car?’
‘I’ve got her number here,’ I said, hand on the landline phone.
‘The car, Ms Cowan.’
‘Not till I’ve used the loo.’ Which is where I retired, using it as disgustingly loudly as I could while I texted Pam. Then I pretended the loo wouldn’t flush.
Yes, Price was waiting for me right outside the door.
Like a lamb I accompanied her to the car. She flung open the passenger door, to release a strong smell of horse.
So my suspicions were right.
What if Elaine hadn’t picked up the subtext to my message? Or even the message?
I could cut and run, but where? Back into school? What if that put Pam and Zunaid at risk?
Put your brain in gear, Jane – now!
While Simon was still on the loose trying to kill me, the police showed me how to make secret 999 calls. You dial as usual, but make no reply when asked what service you need. The call-handler will ask a series of questions; if you can reply to them you must. If you can’t, you just press 55. That triggers an amazing response: it saved my life once. I had an idea it might just have to again. Holding the phone as far out of her sight as I could, I tapped – I knew to a millimetre where the 9 was.
‘What are you up to?’
‘You said I could text my secretary. I have a job, Officer Price, remember.’
‘No need to take that tone with me.’
‘OK, OK.’ I shoved the still live phone into my trousers pocket. And prayed. Then I had another idea. ‘Look, if you give me a lift,’ I said in my most reasonable voice, ‘you’ll have to get someone to bring me back. Why don’t I follow in my car?’
She gave herself away again. ‘And there I thought it was stuck by your cottage. Get in. Now.’
My kidnapper was either very stupid and underprepared or absolutely sure I wouldn’t be escaping alive, or she’d have found a chance to blindfold me before we continued on our journey. She’d have confiscated my phone too. As it was, she drove blithely up to the gates I’d been through when I’d been to see Matt Storm about the school’s nature research. The dogs were still there, but there was no sign of Matt himself. I prayed that he was still in custody.
We didn’t stop in the yard but went straight through into the Great House’s grounds. The house itself looked beautiful in the morning sun. Goodness, it had enough rooms to hide an army, let alone me. But it seemed I wasn’t destined to have such grand accommodation. Built right up against the inside of the wall, where there might once have been cold frames or even kennels, was a row of windowless shacks, no better than the sort that used to sicken us in old footage of South African shanty towns. Worse. I’d seen better hen-coops.
I was thrust inside one. If you were as tall as me you couldn’t stand upright. On the plus side, I told myself as I was thrust unceremoniously inside, the place looked pretty flimsy. Dare I risk another call? Hearing steps outside, I thrust the phone, still on, of course, right into my knickers. It was too big to slide into my vagina, in the time-honoured way of concealing such devices, and I might have to stand a tad awkwardly, but i
t might just escape an amateurish pat-down.
The footsteps passed the door. I heard voices, which I did not recognise. They certainly weren’t the carrying tones of my hostess, and didn’t sound like my kidnapper either.
I’d done enough calming breathing exercises in my time. I ought to try them now. But a pounding distracted me – I was almost surprised to realise it came from my ears. Goodness, I’d heard the same thing often enough when Simon was after me. I might not be about to faint, but sitting down and putting my head between my legs might help me use the phone again. At very least a listener would hear my laboured breathing.
Just as I could hear a lot going on outside. It was hard to get to my feet with anything like speed or elegance, but one thing I was not going to lose was that phone. I pressed my ear to a crack in the door, and listened. Mostly non-English speakers. I couldn’t understand the words but I could recognise panic when I heard it. A large lorry, the diesel engine sounding like a drum. Some shouted commands.
The voices dimmed to a murmur. The lorry drove away. And then another? All went quiet. I was left with nothing but my own thoughts for company.
Not quite. Surely at long last those were Cassandra Preston’s cultured vowels? And that was certainly a very familiar voice. Brian Dawes’. Whatever our relationship he’d not let anyone kill me out of hand, I was sure of that. I banged on the door, as hard as I could, screaming and yelling at the top of my voice. ‘Brian. Over here. Please!’
‘Is that you, Jane?’ He was right outside.
‘Please let me out, Brian. Please.’
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